


take my hand, take my whole life, too

by earlgrey_milktea



Series: milktea's saso2017 fills [19]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Banter, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Future Fic, Gardens & Gardening, Growing Old Together, M/M, Prompt Fill, Road Trips, Romantic Fluff, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 00:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11242161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgrey_milktea/pseuds/earlgrey_milktea
Summary: matsukawa and hanamaki, a few years down the road, and years to go, together.





	1. one cup, two toothbrushes

**Author's Note:**

> original prompt card [here](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22249.html?thread=12168681#cmt12168681)
> 
> title from "can't help falling in love" by elvis presley

Takahiro’s still half-asleep when he shuffles into the bathroom, turns the faucets on, splashes water on his face. He has class today, and then work. Today is Matsukawa’s short day, though, so maybe he can convince him to grab dinner outside, maybe that little noodle shop near Matsukawa’s place. It’s been a while since they’ve had time to eat out. 

Already contemplating which meal he wants to order, Takahiro is reaching for his toothbrush when he pauses. There are two toothbrushes in his cup. He doesn’t really use the cup since it’s much faster for him to just cup his hands under the tap, so the bright blue plastic cup has been turned into a toothbrush holder. His toothbrush is obnoxiously pink. It was an accident, from way back when he just moved out, but then it sort of stuck, and now Takahiro only ever buys pink toothbrushes. 

The other toothbrush is green. It’s the same brand as his, plastic and translucent, easy to grip, easy to use. It’s not his. 

It’s Matsukawa’s.

Takahiro isn’t sure when Matsukawa’s toothbrush started appearing in his toothbrush holder-cup or when it started  _ staying _ , but it’s become a familiar sight now. Two toothbrushes, sharing the same space. It’s not that strange; they’ve shared space like this before, back in high school when they were forced to be in close quarters with a bunch of sweaty teen boys, or when they live out of the same bag to save space when visiting friends out of town. But there’s something about this image of these two toothbrushes, leaning against each other, colours clashing, right here on his bathroom sink, that makes Takahiro pause.

He leans against the counter and laughs weakly. He’s never had a problem with this arrangement before, but this morning, it’s just hitting him hard. He thinks about the queen-sized warm bed he just vacated, too big for himself. He thinks about the extra pairs of shoes lined up at his front door. He thinks about the packets of instant coffee invading his kitchen cabinet even though he can’t stand the taste of it. He thinks about the two clothes drawers he cleared out last month. 

Something warm and almost too much is bubbling in his chest. Takahiro covers his face with shaky hands, and breathes.

There’s a knock on the half-open door. “Taka? What are you doing in there, you bathroom hog?”

Matsukawa stands there, bare-chested and sleepy-eyed. His black curls are sticking up on one side where he was sleeping on it. He looks like the boy Takahiro has known since he was fifteen, and he looks like the man Takahiro can no longer imagine his life without. The warmth in Takahiro’s chest grows, until it’s almost painful.

“Issei,” he says, and he watches as Matsukawa’s eyebrows lift up, “Issei. Move in with me.”

Matsukawa stares at him. Takahiro stares back. His hands are trembling by his sides.

“Takahiro,” Matsukawa says, “I practically already have.”

And then there’s that slow, soft smile he’s so in love with, and Takahiro can only beam back.


	2. muddy knees and hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is less muddy and more dirt-y  
> also i know like .2 things about gardening, don't @ me

“I can’t believe I’m risking my perfect manicure,” Hanamaki says, “digging around the dirt with you.”

“What manicure,” Issei says. He throws a clump of moss at Hanamaki. “You volunteered for this.”

“I did,” sighs Hanamaki. He sits back on his heels, wiping sweat from his forehead. He manages to leave a streak of dirt on his face. Issei accidentally-on-purpose forgets to mention it. “Why are we doing this again?”

Issei surveys the little garden they’re working on. They’re under the sunlight behind his old preschool. His teacher is retiring this year, and because Issei is soft hearted at best, he wants to give her a little present. And since Hanamaki has no plans anyway, Issei dragged him along with the promise of being treated to dinner.

“Gardening is great for relieving stress.”

“More like the great cause of stress,” Hanamaki retorts. “I’m melting, and I’m pretty sure there is soil where there shouldn’t be. In my pants, I’m talking about in my pants.”

Issei laughs, pushing himself to his feet. They’ve been working at this for two hours now, cleaning the flowerbed and replanting the seeds. He leaves Hanamaki fanning himself on the ground while he heads over to the car. There’s a cooler in the back trunk. He pulls out two chilled water bottles, and on second thought, grabs the floppy sunhat his mother had gave him as a joke. 

“Thanks,” Hanamaki says when Issei hands him the drink. He chugs for a few seconds, and then sprays his face with water. Droplets run down the side of his face, pasting his bangs against his forehead.

Issei drops the hat on top of his friend’s head. Hanamaki freezes, a confused noise escaping his lips. Crouching down, Issei adjusts the sunhat until it rests securely on top of Hanamaki’s head, throwing his face into much-appreciated shade. 

“Mattsun,” Hanamaki says. His eyes are slightly wider than usual. He doesn’t make a move to remove the hat.

“Takahiro,” Issei says back, and a smile grows on his face as he watches a flush that has nothing to do with the summer heat spread across Hanamaki’s skin.

“Don’t think this is earning you back any brownie points.”

“Hm? What if I promise to buy you cream puffs after dinner?”

Hanamaki sticks his tongue out at him. “You play dirty, sir.”

Issei reaches up and swipes his thumb across Hanamaki’s nose. He shows the other the dirt on this finger. “That makes both of us, Hanamaki-san.”

The sun continues to shine down, and their clothes end up smudged and stained, but eventually, the flowers are planted and the proper nutrients provided. Issei stands back to appraise their hard work. His teacher will be proud, he thinks.

“Matsukawa,” Hanamaki sings, and Issei turns. The sunhat is still on Hanamaki’s head, and the wide brim flops over his face. He tilts it back up, revealing his usual grin. “Let’s take a selfie to commemorate our sweat and tears over this tiny garden.”

“You just want to send it to Oikawa to keep your streak going.”

“You caught me.”

Issei leans over into the frame anyway, and when he smiles, it comes easy and contentedly. He looks down at Hanamaki, muddy brown spotting his hands and smelling like summer and warm soil. Stretching his arms over his head, Issei closes his eyes, and basks in the late afternoon sunlight.

“What do you want for dinner?”


	3. love songs on the radio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i realized i kinda wanted to fill another prompt on the card so yea look forwards to more fluffy sweet matsuhanas i guess

They are eighteen, sprawled in Matsukawa’s bedroom, graduation looming before them like a heavy stormcloud. Matsukawa’s birthday cake still sits in the fridge downstairs. The stereo on his bookshelf is on, and they lie there quietly, a thousand words between them that couldn’t be pinned down and spoken out loud even if Takahiro tried.

The white-noise commercials fade out, and all of a sudden, something orange and pink floats over Takahiro’s absent gaze. He blinks watercolour sunsets as he pushes himself up. The song is familiar, something old that his parents like to listen to when they’re both home after a long day. Takahiro glances over to Matsukawa where he’s stretched out on his bed, eyes closed, only the rise and fall of his chest telling that he’s awake.

“Matsukawa,” Takahiro says, allowing his lips to pull up in a smile. “Come here.”

Matsukawa opens one eye lazily. “What is it?”

Takahiro tugs at his hands until they’re both standing in the middle of Matsukawa’s room. The oranges and pinks are brighter now, the singer crooning something pastel yellow. Takahiro squeezes his friend’s hands, feels the matching callouses on his fingers and palms, spelling out years of training and passion.

“Dance with me,” he says.

(Matsukawa does, and they spend a few awkward seconds figuring out their long limbs, entirely too clumsy off the court. Takahiro laughs when Matsukawa tries to spin him, and more than once they nearly go down in a tangled heap. One of them stubs their toe on the bed frame at some point, and the swearing and snickers that follow causes Matsukawa’s mother to call up to them in concern. 

The love song plays on.)

 

 

 

 

They are twenty-two, in the apartment Takahiro shares with three other people, eating an early dinner, just the two of them. It was a rare day off for the both of them, and since the raining season has started, they opted to go for a grocery trip and attempt a homemade meal.

“You sure it was okay to open this?” Matsukawa says, gesturing to the bottle of wine on the counter next to their plates. It was already half-empty.

“It’s fine,” replies Takahiro. He’s already feeling slightly buzzed, cheeks and neck warm from the alcohol. “I’ll just pay my roommate back.”

Dinner is finished between small updates on their courses, how close they are to wrapping everything up and graduating, how Iwaizumi and Oikawa are doing, when’s the last time they went back to Miyagi, stupid jokes that Matsukawa quotes verbatim from the internet because he’s always been prone to remember dumb things like that. The audio system in the living room is turned to the fm stations, and the muted colours drifting into the kitchen blends into the deep royal blue that is Matsukawa. Takahiro has never been a fan of the ocean, but he thinks he wouldn’t mind drowning in that blue forever and ever.

“Oh,” he says when a familiar chord blooms orange and pink across his vision. 

Matsukawa must have heard it, too, because he smiles and slides off his chair. He holds out a hand towards Takahiro, bows slightly at the waist. Takahiro bites his lips, but he’s sure the other man can see his helpless smile anyway. He takes the offered hand, and they dance.

(They’re both kind of drunk by then, empty plates and empty wine bottle resting on the bar-counter as they wrap their arms around each other. Their socks slide across the wooden floor, and Takahiro giggles as they slip and glide across the room. He clings onto Matsukawa while Matsukawa does the same, and their laughter follows them to where they finally fall onto the couch, tangled within each other and breathless smiles lighting their faces.)

 

 

 

 

They are twenty-eight, still young but old enough to feel the gravity of this move. Their friends have left hours ago, leaving them behind with boxes spread out in every room, bare-minimum mismatched furniture filling up their very own apartment.

Matsukawa’s phone is hooked up to the bluetooth speaker Takahiro received as a birthday present, and familiar oranges and pinks fill the room. There are boxes piled up in the entranceway, but their couch isn’t supposed to come in until tomorrow, so Takahiro leans his head against Matsukawa’s shoulder, sways with him to the slow, steady melody of that one love song they still know the lyrics to, after all these years.

“Hey, Takahiro,” Matsukawa murmurs above him.

Takahiro closes his eyes to soft blue. “Mm?”

“Takahiro,” Matsukawa repeats, just because he knows Takahiro loves the way his voice paints Takahiro’s name, like the sea under starlight, like the early morning skies when the sun is still taking its time to wake. “Takahiro,” he says, “you’re a terrible dancer.”

Takahiro pinches him. Matsukawa laughs, but he keeps his arms around Takahiro.

“Maybe we should both take some dance lessons,” Matsukawa muses. “If this song is on every playlist you own.”

“This is your playlist, you sap.”

“ _ Our  _ playlist.”

Burying his smile into Matsukawa’s shirt, Takahiro holds on to this man who remains his one constant no matter how much they both grow, who continues to warm his heart like his very own campfire, who keeps him steady with just the colour of his voice. 

(The ancient love song— _ their  _ song—plays on as they dance, in their very first and very own home, together.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hanamaki has synesthesia in this one


	4. road trips

“Takahiro,” Issei says, keeping his eyes on the road. There’s a slow-ass car in front of them, and he desperately wants to overtake them, but they’re driving through a mountain area with lots of winding twists and turns. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find that bag of fish crackers we brought along,” Hanamaki says, his upper half currently rooting around in the backseat while his butt hangs out in the passenger seat. “I know it’s here somewhere.”

“You’re hungry again? We just stopped for lunch.”

“Yeah, but I’m a growing boy, Issei.”

“Please don’t say that out loud ever again.”

Hanamaki manages to find the bag of crackers. He slinks back down into his seat, clipping the seat belt back on. Then he proceeds to rip open the bag. Issei cringes in wait for the inevitable  _ pop! _ of the plastic bag. He hopes it doesn’t explode. This is a borrowed car, and he doesn’t want to explain why the nice leather seats smelled like salt and seaweed.

“Want some?”

Issei glances over in time for Hanamaki to push a cracker against his mouth. He rolls his eyes, but opens his mouth to take in the chip anyway. He licks the crumbs on his lips. It’s not as salty as he expected, kind of sweet, actually.

“You missed a spot.” Hanamaki reaches over before Issei can react, swiping his thumb at the corner of Issei’s mouth. With a smirk, he sticks his thumb into his own mouth, and makes brief eye contact with Issei.

He sighs. “Okay,” says Issei, “I get it. You’re bored. You can change the playlist if you want.”

“Yay~” 

Issei rolls down his window, hooking his right arm on the car door for a minute. It’s late afternoon. They’re supposed to be meeting up with Iwaizumi and Oikawa at the hotel for dinner. He’s looking forwards to sinking into the onsen baths. Maybe he’s growing old, but he wouldn’t mind just spending the entire weekend soaking in the hot springs and forgetting about deadlines and bill payments for a while. Better with his best friends and Hanamaki by his side.

He glances back when Hanamaki starts singing along. It’s an English song, a remastered cover from some drama he’s been obsessed with recently. Issei’s pretty sure Hanamaki understands maybe five words, but Hanamaki manages to keep up with the beat anyway. He’s talented that way.

Issei keeps his foot on the gas pedal and a small smile on his face, allowing the cheesy lyrics of the song and Hanamaki’s voice to carry him forwards.

 

 

 

(It’s not until much later, after a few turns and when the sky is beginning to darken, that Hanamaki finally goes, “Hey, Issei... are we lost?”

“No,” Issei says, even as his fingers clench tight around the steering wheel. “We’re just taking... a detour.”

“Your GPS lost signal half an hour ago, Issei.”

“Well, shit.”

“Should I call Iwaizumi?”

Issei spares a minute to consider it. Iwaizumi would definitely know how to navigate them to their destination, but then Oikawa would know that they’d gotten lost after declining his offer to carpool. They’d never live it down. 

Hanamaki must have reached the same conclusion, because he’s already rummaging through the glove compartment for a map. He unfolds an old, dusty map, nearly smacking Issei in the face with a corner.

“There’s the authentic road trip feel,” says Issei.

“Yay~” Hanamaki drawls. “By the way, I don’t know how to read a map.”

“What.”

“What.”

... They call Iwaizumi. Oikawa’s laughter haunts them for the rest of the weekend.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i might come back to this prompt card? but i did see another matsuhana prompt card i really like, so if you enjoyed this, keep an eye out for that one!!

**Author's Note:**

> @puddingcatbae on tumblr/twitter


End file.
